


Debut

by Anonymous



Category: Love Stage!! & Back Stage!!
Genre: Age Difference, First Time, Humiliation, M/M, No Hypnosis, Smut, the most cliche porn scenario of all time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2298560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a bad audition, Ryouma is in desperate need of a favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debut

   Ichijou Ryouma, who made his first appearance on the small screen before he was out of diapers, whose entire life has been a whirlwind of audition after audition after audition - is trembling. He barely feels it at first, but when he notices the shaking of his hands where they're clasped in his lap, he tenses up and only makes it worse.

   Even if reading scripts and following stage directions doesn't really make him a leader, he still has the skill-set to at least pretend to be. No matter how anxious he's felt in the past, he covered it up. He can perform the perfect veneer of calm, and he knows it.

   Except he can't. Not now. Under Kisaragi's gaze, he can barely even think straight.

   "Ryouma," the producer says, so cordially, using his first name already as though he knows exactly what he's here for. Ryouma doesn't know why he's so offended. It's not like he's wrong. It's not like young, struggling actors seek out appointments with people of his rank for any other reason. "Your demo reel was very impressive."

   And that's it, that's all he says. Ryouma's mind blanks for several seconds before he finally remembers to say, "Thank you." He bows his head politely. Submissively. "Thank you, sir."

   It feels strange, to call this man 'Sir'. It's not that he doesn't deserve respect - he does, of course he does, he's a producer and more successful than Ryouma could dream of being at this point. But he looks young. It's hard to tell whether he actually is, or if he just achieves the illusion of youth through expensive skin treatments and the way he wears the top buttons on his shirt open, so on-trend, but for some reason, it puts Ryouma on edge.

   He's interrupted before he can sigh about it.

   " _However_ ," he producer begins, his voice loud and hard and all the things Ryouma's isn't right now. He hasn't looked up, but he can tell the man is smiling. "Your audition was... less than favourable." There's a scrape of plastic against the desk and when Ryouma does look up, the producer has turned his monitor around to face him. The first frame of a tape of his audition is blown up on the screen, and at a click of the mouse, it begins to play.

   Ryouma cringes before the Ryouma in the video even utters his first word. His hair had been a mess, messier even still after he bowed his greeting to the casting staff, and about two minutes into his dialogue, little patches of sweat became very, very obvious at his neckline and underarms. It had been hot, and he was nervous. Every time he stumbled over a word, he shot a smile towards his audience that was supposed to be charming, but in hindsight, looked more along the lines of nauseated.

   The producer spares him from watching the entire thing, but his point is clear. With an audition like that, nobody in their right mind would give him a role.

   "So you see," the producer says, just at the same time Ryouma gathers the nerve to say, "But I just-"

   They both fall silent, and the producer raises his eyebrows, leans back in his chair. Gestures for him to keep going.

   "I just-" Ryouma tries again. He clears his throat, and gives the man his best determined stare. "I just don't think I had an opportunity to show off my full potential. Sir," he adds as an afterthought, then loses his nerve and quickly looks away.

   He can feel the man looking at him. Puzzling over him, even. Trying to figure out, most likely, if Ryouma means what he thinks he means, or if suggesting it is going to land him with a sexual harassment lawsuit.

   Ryouma takes in a deep breath. He can feel his good luck charm heavy in his pocket, grounding him. "I'll do anything for this part, Mr Kisaragi."

   Kisaragi's smile is just a little off, and it's unsettling. Like he admires Ryouma's resolve but also wants to laugh at him - for his begging, and his pitiful audition, and the way he continues to shake in his chair. "You realise that this is a movie, don't you? A big movie, with an A-list cast." He dumbs down his words for Ryouma's sake. As if, after over ten years of acting, he doesn't understand. "You realise how high the standards are?"

   But the glint in the man's eyes lets Ryouma know that he isn't going to be turned down.

   "Yes. I understand." He gets to his feet, but stays put to make it clear he isn't leaving. That he'll go around the desk or under it, next, whatever this man asks for him. "I'll work so hard. Please, just let me... let me show you how much this role means to me?" 

   Kisaragi toys with his necklace, glances away like he's thinking very hard about it.

   Ryouma's voice trembles when he once again says, "Please."

   The man sighs, catching Ryouma off guard, and a small. confused noise escapes from the younger's mouth. Kisaragi checks his wristwatch, then glances thoughtfully over Ryouma's shoulder at the door. "Alright, well, you'd better make it quick."

   Ryouma blinks at him. "Make it...?"

   "I'm a busy man, Ryouma." And Ryouma can only watch, stunned, as the man reaches down to unfasten his belt buckle. He hears the soft  _click_  of metal, a shift of leather, button, zipper, and then his hands are settled on his desk once more. "Get over the desk or get out. I have a meeting in twenty minutes with the casting director, and if you can't impress me by then..."

   "Yes," Ryouma breathes, apparently the only word his brain is able to deliver right now.  _Yes, I will. Yes, I can_. He pulls at the knot of his tie to loosen it, and then starts working on the buttons of his dress shirt. Kisaragi sighs again, exaggerated.

   "Jesus Christ," he says, so impatient, and even as he does, Ryouma can see Kisaragi checking him out, dark eyes taking in every inch of revealed skin as he removes his shirt and tie, and then quickly wriggles out of his trousers, taking his shoes and socks with them. He waits for the embarrassment to hit, but it doesn't. He's had to show off his body for a few auditions before, so this is nothing. Nothing at all.

   But then Kisaragi's eyes wander down to his crotch, and the air goes still as they realise at the same time that Ryouma's underwear is already pushing out a little at the front. That's what makes Ryouma's face finally go hot, even as he tells himself it's just reflexive. His body doesn't understand what's about to happen. It doesn't understand that just because he's going to have sex, it doesn't mean sex with a  _girl_  - good, regular sex, the kind that occupies his fantasies.

   Or at least, about 80% of them.

   Maybe 75% on a bad day.

   "Cute," is all Kisaragi says on the matter, smirking a little as Ryouma steps away from his abandoned clothes (strewn on the floor, so disrespectful, but what else can he do?) and pads around to the other side of the desk. He expects instruction, but all he gets is a huff of annoyance before he takes initiative and gets on his knees, but a moment later Kisaragi's fingers are tangled in his hair, yanking him back up.

   Ryouma stands with tears his his eyes, even though the pain fades quickly. " _Over_ ," Kisaragi says again, firmly, "the  _desk_ , unless you want me to take you to the meeting and fuck you there instead."

   The words stun him and he obeys quickly, bending and bracing himself against the desk. Kisaragi stands, moves his chair out of the way and, without hesitation, pulls Ryouma's boxers over his ass, down his thighs, until they eventually pool at his feet. The trembling is worse now, stemming from an electric mix of fear and excitement, and Ryouma can't stand still.

   He fidgets at the tear of a condom wrapper behind him.

   Ryouma's heartbeat thunders in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut, letting Kisaragi pose him however he wants. He ends up with one leg stretched out, foot on the ground, and the other knee on the desk. It's uncomfortable, and he feels the stretch of it all up his inner thighs. But Kisaragi's voice, somehow, soothes him.

   "Little slut," he hisses, and Ryouma yelps at the sudden smack to his ass - just hard enough to sting, but not to hurt. "Think you can get me off in ten minutes? Huh?" Another smack, and Ryouma is clearly expected to answer, but he can't think of a single thing to say except  _I hope so_. "Or do you want me to show you off to everyone? 'Ichijou Ryouma, the Happy Wedding boy...'"

   Ryouma knows it's all talk, but he can't help whimpering a little at that. And even though it's wrong,  _so_  wrong to be thinking about  _her_  at a time like this -  _her_ , so sweet and pure and perfect,  _her_  who would forgive him, surely, for doing this - it's the thought of her that reminds him that the good parts of show business are worth all of this, and that has him pushing his ass out, and whining, "F-fuck me, please."

   "What?" Kisaragi teases, but just as Ryouma opens his mouth to reply, he finds something soft unceremoniously shoved into it. The fabric feels nauseating against his tongue, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see purple. His boxers. He groans. "Something to bite down on," Kisaragi explains, and just like that, Ryouma feels something brush over his hole. Something blunt, and warm, and definitely not the gentle push of he'd been hoping for, but not expecting. "You'll need it."

   Even if Ryouma could speak, it wouldn't feel right to give Kisaragi the satisfaction of knowing he'd already fingered himself in the studio bathroom before his appointment - that he'd prepared to get fucked, that he'd seen it coming and hadn't backed out because he was  _just so okay with this_ -

   He does scream when Kisaragi enters him in a single stroke, more from shock than from pain, because there had been no warning. The gag muffles most of it - enough that he can very clearly hear the noise of mingled pleasure and disappointment that comes from behind him. "Not as tight as I thought," he says, almost thoughtful. He gives Ryouma about half a second to adjust before he grips him around the hips and adds, "Oh well."

   Ryouma lets out an ungodly, guttural sound when Kisaragi pulls back, almost all the way out, and his eyes roll back in his head at the feeling. It isn't good. It doesn't hurt, but that doesn't mean every nerve in his body isn't on fire with the feeling of someone inside him, the overwhelming intensity of it and the burning humiliation that somehow, through all of this, his own dick has only gotten harder, trapped between his stomach and the smooth wood of the desk beneath him.

   "God. How many guys have you fucked for a role, Ryouma?" Kisaragi teases, and then moans out suddenly when Ryouma tenses up, his breath catching in his lungs, entire body red-hot with humiliation. "Am I right? You let the directors of those shitty commercials fuck you?"

   And Ryouma wants to say no, that he's wrong, that this is his first time with  _anyone_  - but, gagged as he is, he can do nothing but let Kisaragi say whatever he wants. The producer is setting his pace now, seemingly going deeper inside Ryouma with every thrust of his hips, and all Ryouma can hear is the slap of skin-on-skin, Kisaragi's cruel words, and his own muffled, involuntary groans.

   "And then what? You're too good for them now?" Ryouma screws his eyes shut tighter. There's no way Kisaragi can really believe this - can really believe that Ryouma would be the kind of person who's done this before and would do it again. "You got a little girlfriend and you don't want to be sucking dick for work anymore? Is that it?"

    _As if I'd ever want to,_  Ryouma wants to say. He shifts, lifting himself up a little higher to change the angle of Kisaragi's thrusts, pushing back on his cock until he feels it nudge his prostate, and he shudders. He's found that spot with his fingers before, and somehow, this is better - less precise but more intense, and and the producer seems to like it when Ryouma meets him half-way.

   Ryouma doesn't even know what Kisaragi is talking about any more except that he's being loud about it. So loud that anyone walking past the door would hear him - and his secretary, the meek woman who sits just outside the office, will most likely be sitting there, trying to block out the cacophony of the desk rattling and Ryouma's pathetic, involuntary sounds. Intermittent growls of 'slut' and 'desperate' and 'so fucking good' punch through Ryouma's haze of pleasure, but the producer doesn't seem to notice the way Ryouma's breathing gets a little faster, and his groans get a little more needy - until suddenly, he pulls all the way out warning, and before Ryouma can think about it, he  _wails._

   "Yeah," Kisaragi says, so smug, as though that's exactly the reaction he expected. He easily turns Ryouma onto his back, legs spread and ankles held in the air, and Ryouma is dizzy until his clarity comes back and he sees himself. The wet mess of precome on his stomach, and Kisaragi looking down at him, his irises all black, his clothes still on while Ryouma completely naked. "I can tell how much you love it."

   And Ryouma can only lie there, stupid boxers still in his mouth as Kisaragi shoves back into him again. He arches his back, claws at the desk as he's fucked senseless by this stranger who won't be a stranger for long. After this, he'll see him every day on set - they'll probably do this again, if Ryouma is honest with himself. To secure his position. If Kisaragi wants to.

   Ryouma finds himself staring at the necklace Kisaragi wears - a shining, silver crucifix against his chest. It bounces a little with his movements, just as the desk beneath Ryouma trembles and shakes. He's just settling into the new, brutal pace when he jolts at the feeling of a hand around his dick, jerking him off quickly. " _Yes_ ," he tries to say. " _Yes, yes..._ "

   It overwhelms him, and the combined sensations have him moaning helplessly into his gag. He's bent in half, knees almost to his chest as Kisaragi pounds mercilessly into him, and the sudden attention to has him so close to coming that he almost doesn't even register that Kisaragi's hips aren't moving any more until he pulls out again.

   Ryouma is about to protest when Kisaragi turns around suddenly. There's the sound of latex on skin, and Ryouma realises with a fresh wave of embarrassment that he's done, and it's over. His head falls back against the desk and he tries not to listen while Kisaragi cleans himself up in silence, and then the boxers are pulled unceremoniously out of his mouth.

   "Get dressed and get out," Kisaragi says, no trace of pity on his face when Ryouma blinks blearily up at him.

   "But I'm so close," Ryouma whines, almost under his breath, as though he isn't sure if he wants Kisaragi to hear. But he does - he has no idea how he's supposed to come now, without that wonderful touch of another hand, and his ass empty as it is.

   He wills the thought away as soon as it enters his head. He's just sex-dazed. There's no way he'd ever actually  _want_ -

   Kisaragi looks down at him, considering, and then smirks at him once again. "And I'm late. Now get off my desk, or my secretary's going to come in here and find you rolling around like a-" He's interrupted by a sharp, electronic sound from his pocket, and he gives Ryouma a last warning look before he answers his phone and drifts away to look out of the window while he speaks.

   Ryouma manages to pull himself together enough to sit up and pull his boxers back on. He runs fingers through his hair as though it will help him straighten out his thoughts - his mind is still horribly fogged the way it always is when he's about to come, and while he's calming down a little, he still can't quite register what just happened other than that he's sore all over, he got the part, and he needs to get off  _now_.

   Ignoring the pain in his joints, he hops off the desk and gets dressed, his boxers unpleasantly damp against his hip where his mouth was earlier. There's nothing he can do about the flush on his face, or the riot that his hair has become - he sighs as he quickly inspects himself in the reflection of a cabinet in Kisaragi's office, but the man doesn't acknowledge him.

   Even as Ryouma goes for the door, all he gets is a quick, "Congratulations", before Kisaragi returns to his phone call again.

**Author's Note:**

> it occurred to me that canon is a little unclear of when ryouma's debut actually was, and may have been referring to his introduction to the industry when he was a small child. but he's intended to be over the age of consent in this fic, so don't worry. ^^


End file.
